


Bullet Through My Wallet

by nomisupernova



Series: DaveKat Music Fics 2018 [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Bisexual Dave Strider, Bottom Karkat, Crossdressing, Fantasizing, Guys Being Dudes and having a good fuck, M/M, POV Multiple, Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider are Siblings, Rose and Karkat are BFFs, Rosemary mentioned, Safe Sane and Consensual, Song Lyrics, There's like... a hint of spanish but nothing that isn't easy to translate vis a vis context clues, like... he's wearing bikini tops so idk if that really counts but im tagging it anyway, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisupernova/pseuds/nomisupernova
Summary: Becoming a stripper at the "tender" age of 21 seemed dumb at first but the money made it worth it, you think. The first year was rough but after your 23rd birthday earlier this year, money started pouring in. You can pay for your college tuition comfortably as long as you're able to keep the customers happy. And you do, gladly, you do; because you like getting fucking paid. The grabby hands while you’re up on stage are fine as long as they're doing it to slip money in the cracks of your fishnets and the guards keep you safe from any of the creeps. Plus your stage name is pretty cool, they let you pick it yourself; Cherry Bomb.Written live in the Karkat Thirst Server.





	Bullet Through My Wallet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commaAbuser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commaAbuser/gifts).



> This fic takes its name from the song _Take A Slice_ by Glass Animals which you can listen to [here.](https://open.spotify.com/track/37adYGaYaAWTGhBaOzX4Fh?si=_WsAOWdrRSWWkEUnF9tRlw)
> 
> POV changes are marked by horizontal lines in this order:  
> Karkat => Dave=> Karkat
> 
> Gifted to my best friend, Orrin, who gave me lovely ideas all throughout the process of writing this story.

You can't say that this is the most honest work you've had to do, but really, who are you to complain? Guys are always fawning all over you, you get more money than you know what to do with, and you get to live comfortably. It helps that the club helps you keep an apartment and pays for any medications you need after you're done...  _ servicing _ the customers. Should it come to that, but it’s really rare that you need that. You’re pretty fucking careful about that shit, but it’s nice to have the financial backup just in case.

Becoming a stripper at the "tender" age of 21 seemed dumb at first but the money made it worth it, you think. The first year was rough but after your 23rd birthday earlier this year, money started pouring in. You can pay for your college tuition comfortably as long as you're able to keep the customers happy. And you do, gladly, you do; because you like getting fucking paid. The grabby hands while you’re up on stage are fine as long as they're doing it to slip money in the cracks of your fishnets and the guards keep you safe from any of the creeps. Plus your stage name is pretty cool, they let you pick it yourself;  _ Cherry Bomb. _

And you would say it's honestly pretty accurate. It goes with your explosive temper that you tend to adopt if someone doesn't pay you properly for your private dances. Plus you're known to wear a firecracker red lipstick on Friday nights that tastes like cherry pop rocks. The Friday college crowd really fucking loves that. Both on their necks and on their dicks, if they have enough money saved up to afford that particular type of service. 

It's another Friday night and you're in the back, getting ready with your coworkers. The girls are nice and kind to you, despite you being one of the few male dancers that this club has. One of them is a bombshell blonde and she has a particularly regular customer. You don't usually get their actual names but the two of you go out for breakfast together some mornings, so she was nice enough to actually tell you. Her name is Rose but on stage she's Violetta. (Honestly, you don't know where she pulled that from, but you think it might have something to do with the purple streaks in her hair. Not very creative in your opinion.)

"So, Kark- er...  _ Cherry. _ " She starts as she's taking out her makeup bag to adjust her winged eyeliner. You usually help her with getting her false lashes on and done correctly but recently she’s figured out how to do it (mostly) without sticking her eyes together like an idiot.

"Yeah?" You huff at her, you're not supposed to know the names of the other workers, you could get in a fuck ton of trouble so it's really dangerous for her to slip up with your name like that.

"I heard..." She pauses to flick her wrist outward, painting a crisp and perfect cat-eye in one fluid motion, "that there's a director in town today. From what I hear, he's looking for a little tart like yourself to devour if you catch my meaning, of course.”

You roll your eyes gently, “Is this your way of setting me up for tonight?”

“No no, of course not. I just happen to have some…  _ connections _ to this particular guy and I  _ may _ have mentioned that there was a lovely dancer here who is just his type.” She leans back, resting her arm on the back of her chair. “Tall, thick thighs, into whatever, and willing to work with whatever his clients are packing.”

“Only because I need the money.”

“Oh honey, I know. Trust me, I know. I’ll be busy tonight myself so I won’t be able to grab him myself. Not that I would, but I digress. I brought you his picture so you’ll know to grab him up for yourself when you see him. Just… you know, do what it is that you regularly do and surely he’ll turn his attention to you. If not, flaunt what the gods gave you to him and he’ll pay you handsomely for your services.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“What harm could it do? At the very least, you get to shake your ass all over a director’s lap and you can have that achievement under your belt. At the most, you  _ could _ capture his attention and you can have a regular like I do with Ms. Maryam. Perhaps he could even take you in… be a boyfri-”

“EXCUSE ME!” You stand up, slamming your hands down on your vanity, rattling the jars of perfume you keep there. They threaten to fall over but you’re quick to settle down enough that they don’t. “I  _ knew _ this was a setup! Why the fuck do you think I want a boyfriend so badly, Lalonde?”

“Names,  _ Cherry. _ ” She squints at you, pouting her pitch-painted lips out in that way that makes you instantly want to apologize. “You just get so  _ lonely, _ dear. Consider this a favor that you don’t have to return. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to service the guy. He’s my half-brother after all.”

“What the fuck!?”

“Yes, that’s right. Let it sink in. My hot-shot director brother decided to come and visit me for the week so I’ll be avoiding him all night so he doesn’t realize that between classes on Literature, I’m dancing here for quick cash.” She pats over her face with powdered foundation, sealing her makeup. “Don’t fucking blow this for yourself or I swear I’ll break every heel on all of your dancing shoes and spit in your gel liner.”

You think for a moment, weigh your options so to speak. She  _ is _ right, you are kind of lonely. Besides, none of the guys on campus at your school are worth their fucking salt. Half of the gay guys on campus anyway are bottoms and you don’t want to top anymore than you absolutely need to while you’re at work. So if this could work out, maybe you can find a boyfriend who doesn’t want you to bend him over and make him call you Daddy this time.

You decide that she’s right, but goddamn is she being a fucking bitch about it. “Why are we friends again?”

“Because you love me, darling.” She pinches your cheek and then pats it gently. “Now get over here and let me get your liner today. You need to look lovely for your show.”

You sit back in your chair, but you watch her as she unzips your makeup bag and pulls out your favorite angled brush. You keep your brushes as clean as possible so that way you don't have to buy any new ones. They're expensive and a good set of reliable brushes is hard to find. Besides, these were a gift from Violetta. You know you shouldn't fret over her using them but you can't help but worry just a little bit. 

She pulls out the little pot of gel liner and you close your left eye first, she's left-handed after all so that's where she'll go first, and relax. She does a much thicker and more round eye for you since your eyes are already pretty squinty (mostly from you looking pissed off all the time.) As she finished that one up, she dips it in again and repeat the process with your right eye. 

"Looooooovely." She whispers as she pulls back, "Don't blink yet, three... two... one... okay."

You blink your eyes a few times, "Mirror." 

This next part is pretty mechanical since you're used to doing each other's makeup all the time. She likes to wear cat eyes outside of work as well and you usually just do a faded black rim around your eyes on a daily basis. Violetta says it makes you look tired and when you complain and say that's what you're going for, she just rolls her eyes at you. Whatever. At least you don't wear white-out lenses to clubs to freak out any creeps who bug the two of you.

She's gay as hell and she's  _ practically _ dating her patron and for you, well, you're not interested in any of the guys that live around here. Bunch of fucking soft bottom bitches who are always looking for someone to man-handle them. The girls aren't  _ bad _ per say, but they're not the best either. You've hooked up with a few of them, but when you ask them to fuck  _ you _ from behind suddenly they're tired or busy or they have to leave. They can all go fuck themselves as far as you're concerned. 

"Daydreaming about boys again, dear?" Violetta asks as she blends out the cream contouring makeup on your face. It makes you have higher cheekbones which is apparently attractive but you really don't think the clients give a shit. They just want to grab your hair and shove your face between their legs or bend you over the couches on the back room and stroke your dick until you cum all over the leather. 

"Mostly on whether or not your "brother" is going to be worth me wasting my fucking time." You answer, thinking in the back of your head that you should really check to be sure that your private room is fully stocked with condoms. Or if you should ask Violetta if her brother has anything. 

“He’s fine, you’ll be great. Now close your eyes, I have to-”

“I know, I know.” You close them and lean forward, letting her run the eyeshadow brush across your eyelids with a base of glittery red.

“Black or white accent today?” She asks quickly.

“Black, I’m feeling edgy.”

“Hah, of course you are, open slightly.” You crack your eyes open as she sweeps the brush under the crease in your eyes, blending in the black with the red. “You look like one of those butterflies except if it was red instead of blue, the blue morpho?”

“I know of it and that’s just fucking fine with me. They’re pretty as fuck anyway.”

She laughs lightly, “Stunning. He’s going to be on his knees for you. Not literally, of course, but he’ll be begging for a room with you after you bat your lashes at him.”

You have the decency to blush, you… well, you’ve only really seen one picture of the guy and his face wasn’t even in it. Every “picture” of him on tabloids and magazine covers, he’s wearing something fucking ridiculous that hides his face. Violetta said it’s because he cares a lot about his privacy so only she has pictures of his face with her. So you’re not sure what to expect and you know she won’t show you until she’s finished up and the night is ready to start.

“You’re almost done, close your eyes. Sealing spray.” You close your eyes and put your hand up. You can’t believe you nearly forgot the best part.

“Wait.”

“Oh! Right, your  _ signature lipstick. _ ” She says it so fucking smugly that you nearly slap her for it. But you are aware that she’s just teasing you because she thinks it’s a little funny when you get mad.

You apply a thick coat of ruby red lipstick and be sure to add on the shimmering sour lip gloss. That the real secret as to what really makes it so  _ shocking _ and good. Plus the fact that the lipstick itself is cinnamon-cherry flavoured helps too. It’s a good combo that you figured out on a total accident and it’s become a part of your weekly routine ever since then. 

“Alright, set me.” You close your eyes and she spritzes you twice and you count to ten in your head and wait for it to dry. After you’re done, you open your eyes and see that she’s got her phone out. “The picture?”

“Here.” She hands her phone over and slides the gallery view over to a picture of a tall man with the most  _ gorgeous _ eyes you’ve ever seen. They look almost red in this light but it’s hard to really tell through his sunglasses. It could be a trick of the lighting but whatever. He’s got nice sideburns on his face and his left eyebrow has one silver piercing through it. He’s got the best fucking smile that you’ve seen in ages. All of his teeth are perfectly white and you nearly melt into the floorboards when you think about him biting your neck with those.  _ Fucking shit. _

“You like what you see?” Violetta laughs at you, you’re being kind of really fucking obvious so you probably deserve that.

“ _ Just a little bit, yeah. _ ” You manage to squeak out and she shakes her head at you.

“Don’t worry, mon ami, he’s much bigger in person. Remember that I’m 5’2 and I’m  _ that _ short next to him. I am painfully aware of your weakness for people that are taller than you.”

You blush again,  _ goddammit, _ does she  _ always _ have to fucking call you out? 

Oh what are you saying, of course she does. You swear she fucking gets off on being a bitch sometimes but at least she’s never a bitch for no reason. She’s always a little bit helpful and she actually  _ is _ doing this because she cares about you being lonely. School is nice but having a boyfriend to fuck your brains out once in a while wouldn’t hurt. It also helps if their pockets are padded enough to take care of your lavish lifestyle but it’s not totally needed.

You’re resourceful, which is just your gentle way of saying you don’t mind sucking dick for cash when you need to.

Plus, it wouldn’t hurt if they were actually a good fucking person. You need someone willing to actually care about you and your feelings a little bit too. But that part is kind of a bonus, a dream of sorts. You  _ want _ that to happen, but you’re aware that you might be asking for a lot with that sort of thought. Still, that won’t stop you from hoping.

“Whatever. Lets just…” You nearly bite your lip before you remember that you’re wearing expensive makeup that you don’t want to touch up right now.

“Have fun tonight? Of course we will. I know I will and if you don’t, I swear I’ll gut you my damn self. Come now, let’s get this show started, Cherry Bomb.” She puts her arm around your waist and tugs you out of the dressing room and onto the floor. 

Well, you suppose that work tonight is going to be a shitshow, but goddamn if you aren’t going to try and at least get that director in your pants. You’re a fucking cherry bomb for fucks sake, you’re supposed to rock everyone’s world. Let’s just hope that you’re able to impress a billionaire director. 

_ Gods save you. _

As you exit the backroom, Rose-- well you suppose right now she's Violetta-- Violetta presses her ears to your lips and whispers "Good luck" before sauntering off into the audience. You suppose now is a good time to warm up with some lap dances so you follow suit, taking the right half of the room. You don't wanna step on Violetta's toes so you stay on the side she isn't working. That's just basic fucking kindness as far as you're concerned. 

Your eyes land on one guy, sitting all by himself on a couch. He's drinking something fruity with a cherry on the top. Hah, this is the  _ perfect _ opportunity for you to pay for your lunch and a new eye palette. Plucking the cherry out of his drink, he turns to look at you and you lick your lips, leaning forward. He holds it up and you wrap your fingers around his hand, pulling it closer to your face. 

Your mouth opens and you take the whole cherry-- stem and all-- into your mouth and press a kiss to his index fingers. You chew at the cherry, thanking the bartenders quietly for using the pitted ones, and take care to knot the stem with your tongue. 

This one always makes them weak.

You hold out your tongue after you're all finished and drop the stem, now sporting four knots, into his palm, and give him a wink. You see him stare at you, starry-eyed for a moment, before he starts scrambling for his wallet. Just for fun, and because it's funny to watch them suffer a little, you lean down and press your lips against his cheek, kissing up until your lips are at his ear.

" _ Come on now, don't you want to make me happy, Amante? _ "

You hear his breath hitch and you have to hold back your laughter. Guys like this are so  _ easy, _ all you really have to do to get them going is whisper a few words at them in Spanish and they practically cum in their fucking pants for you. 

You're not usually this much of a bitch but come  _ on _ , it really is quite funny. These little pathetic men could never handle you. You're so tired of this weak pathetic "please dominate me" types chasing after you. You want someone to make  _ you _ cry for fucking once. Is that so fucking much to ask for?

Anyway, you smirk at him, when he finally stops fucking trembling in his boots long enough to take his wallet out. It seems like he's got a few twenties in there. Not bad, you guess. Definitely not enough to be worth too much of your attention but you don't mind teasing him a little bit here and there. He reaches out to touch you and then takes his hand back.

"C-can I...?"

You nod and he slips a few bills into your stockings, just enough to wrap around half of your thigh. Looks like about eighty, not  _ bad _ but not that great either. Oh well. You guess he earned a little something. You slide into his lap, shoving him back into the couch with an “oomph” noise from him.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” You ask, not really caring but you’re supposed to ask anyway because they pay more if you whisper their name here and there. 

You see him think for a moment before he opens his mouth, “John.”

You’re honestly not sure if that’s his real name but whatever, you’re going to say it and make tuition either way. That, and blow as much time as possible until Violetta’s brother gets here.

“So, John…” You pause and run your hand down the front of his shirt. It’s really fucking dorky, a ghastly teal colour that makes you want to rip your eyes out. “Do you come here often?” It’s a really stupid question but he bites nonetheless.

“This is my first time. I- I turned twenty one in April.” It’s fucking  _ September _ , it’s a little fucking late to be having a birthday celebration. “You’re r-really gorgeous.”

You almost roll your eyes, he’s so soft, it’s fucking funny. “Mmm. Thank you. But flattery doesn’t pay my bills if you catch my meaning, John.” He flashes some bills again and you soften a little more, lifting your ass and grinding it onto his dick, which is fucking rock hard. 

“Are you a virgin, amor?” You ask, running your hands a little lower. He  _ has _ to be if he’s this soft and malleable. There’s really no other explanation to it. 

“Not with girls but…” He trails off.  _ Ah. _

You sigh, sitting up on his lap. You’re ready to get up whenever and something tells you that you’re going to have to in a moment here. “You’ve never had a guy before, I take it?”

Absolutely fucking laughable. He’s going through one of those “I swear I’m not gay, I only get  _ lap dances _ from male strippers” phases. “No. I- I’m--”

“Not gay.” You answer flatly.

“Ahah… well I wouldn’t put it like that but…” He laughs, clearly uncomfortable with you questioning him. Well you know what,  _ you _ are the one who is uncomfortable here. You don’t wanna rub all over some straight guy. Hell fucking no.

You  _ hate _ this type. They always make you feel like shit. “You’re here right now getting a dance from me. How are you not gay,  _ gilipollas _ ?”

“I’m just… experimenting?” He’s visibly sweating again. What a fucking loser. Oh well, at least you got about two-hundred out of him. 

You stand up, you have more fucking dignity than this. Hell, you know you deserve better. “Well go play around with someone else and quit wasting my fucking time.” You roll your eyes and practically hiss at him. He scurries off toward the bar and you shove your cash into the straps of your bikini top.

At least the material isn’t too scratchy, plus its got these really cool dangling beads that catch the light and Ro--  _ Violetta _ says it makes you look like red starlight. You think it looks a little silly but if Violetta says it looks good, then it’s fine, you guess. It even goes with your fishnets, which are cherry red tonight. Your top is black and so is the bottom that does with it, but it’s got red accents all over it that you hand-sewed on there with Violetta a few months back during a “study session” in your apartment.

You think you look great in these colours but jesus fucking christ are they expensive as shit to buy. Who knew that red stockings were so fucking pricey? Whatever, you look great. You’re great. This “John” or whatever his actual name might be, was just some asshole that didn’t care about using you to fuck around with his sexuality. 

The last thing you need right now is to be grabbing someone’s dick and have them change their mind suddenly and slap you away. Sure, you get to keep the money, but that shit fucking stings your soul, alright? It’s bullshit and you shouldn’t have to deal with that. Whatever, it’s time for your set anyway, at least on your own stage. 

The club is divided into three stages, you, luckily, get the biggest one right in the middle on Friday nights since you’re kind of the main event. If Violetta’s calculations were correct, her brother should be here any moment. Maybe he’ll show up before your set starts or even right after it. 

You step up onto the platform, which luckily isn’t lit yet, and grab the pole, pulling on it a few times and giving it a test spin. It seems sturdy enough and it’s even been wiped down and polished for you. How  _ thoughtful _ of the manager to do that for you. You’ll have to thank him sometime. You open up your phone and scroll to your dancing playlist and open up your first song for the night. 

The music is good for tonight so you decide to use that. You nod over at the stage manager and he winks at you and you hold up your fingers for him so he knows to start at number seven on your playlist tonight. He keeps a copy of it for himself and just follows your cute on which to play for any given set. 

_ I’m only lying, to make you feel better. _ __  
_ I’m only lying to make things right _ __  
_ I’m only lying to hold onto you _ _  
_ __ I’m only lying to feel denied

You walk around the pole, holding onto it gingerly with your fingers before grinding into it and looking out into the audience. A lot of people have already started gathering at the stage, half of them are fucking captivated by you. That is, if the looks on their faces and their elbows on the stage edge are anything to go by. Half of them are from the various local colleges and you even recognize a few faces from your own.

_ I’m no heavenly body _ _  
_ _ I’m no heavenly body _

But you’re looking for Violetta’s fucking hot brother, Dave Strider, not any of these fucks.

_ I just wanna be mean to someone else _ _  
_ _ I just wanna be mean and I can’t help it _

You kick your feet off the ground and wrap your thighs around the metal, listening to the music and forgetting for a second that you’re even in a club. You just really love dancing so this is really nice for you, almost therapeutic in a way. All of those years you spent doing ballet made this job pretty fun, in your opinion. You get to dance your cares away  _ and  _ you get to make money doing something that you’re actually good at.

_ I just wanna be mean to someone else _ _  
_ _ I just wanna be mean, I know you felt it _

You slide back, flicking your hand out as you lean back toward the crowd. In the lights, you spot a face that makes your thighs clench harder to the pole.

_ It’s him. _ It’s Dave Strider, and he’s staring right at you, mouth agape. He’s already stunned by you and you’re honestly fucking stunned by him. He’s even more drop dead gorgeous and muscly in person. He’s hotter than you could’ve ever hoped. Dear god you hope you can fuck this guy because this warmth pooling in your stomach is  _ not  _ going anywhere until you do.

* * *

 

You walk into the club, listening to the music that's playing over the speakers. It's got a nice beat and it's honestly exactly what you'd expect from a strip club. This place is nice and Rose won't stop talking about some worker that's got the main stage on Friday so of course you had to visit. Besides, if they're as hot as she says they are, this should be no problem. You can just go, toss some bills, and leave even if they're not.  Shouldn't be a problem, you think. 

You recognize the song and follow the crowd to the stage. It's right in the middle of the club, shaped like a massive heart. It's fucking cliché as all hell and it makes you scoff. But you guess a place like this is gonna have a fuck ton of that kind of stuff. When you finally get close enough to really see what's going on with the stage itself, you're  _ stunned _ by what you see. There's this... this  _ guy _ dancing. You weren't  _ not _ expecting a guy, but-- well, you weren't sure what you expected. But fucking  _ shit _ he's hot. Like a firepit on the fourth of July in Texas hot. You  _ have _ to get closer and see his face. 

You slide through the crowd of nameless faces, a few people double-take as they recognize you. You shoosh them like you usually do and shockingly, they listen. If you had to take a guess, you'd say that this kind of atmosphere makes it less about the hot director in the room and more about the hot people on the stage. Which really works out in your favor since you came here to scout and relax and not have to deal with work for a little while.

As you get to the centre of the crowd, you stick out like a red bead in a box of rice. You're pretty much the tallest person here, which makes it all that much easier for you to grab his attention when he finally looks back. His fucking legs are so...  _ wow. _

You want those legs on your shoulders as soon as humanly possible or even tied up in the air works. Either way, you want to see them in action more. He grips onto the pole and you're stunned when he flicks his hands back and leans with the motion. His body moves like oil on water and you swear you see fucking  _ stars _ in your eyes. He really is exactly like Rose said.

_ "A fucking cherry bomb." _

He's like red hot firecrackers and you're the hideous beast who wants to play with fire. 

His eyes are shining in the light and you swear that you see stars in his eyes too. Or maybe that's just a trick of the light. But honestly you don't fucking care. He looks so fucking delicious and you want a taste of him. You almost can't stand it when his eyes lock to yours. It's so fucking hot that you're threatening to burn right up on the spot and explode into a million cascading ashes, choking the life out of everything around you. You wouldn't even mind it, you'd gladly burst into flames for him. 

You barely have your fucking mind about you when he gives you a wink, eyes flicking from glittering red to pitch black. He's like a flaming hot butterfly flicking his wings at you. Every nerve in your body is pulling toward him and your feet move before your brain realizes they are at all.

You're at the edge of the stage and you can feel every eye in the room searing into you but you couldn't give less of a shit. The only flame you care about fanning is him and the molten pool in your hips. You want to make him moan and beg and squeeze you with those legs of his. His neck is long and slender, perfect for putting your hands around as you press him into a mattress and fuck him until the only word he remembers is your name.

If you could only hear him speak, that'd make it so much better.  _ Fuck.  _ You want to... you're not sure. But you know you want to see more of him and you want it as soon as fucking possible. Yesterday, even, but you can't time travel so tonight will have to do.

"How much does it cost for a dance from him?" You ask the guy standing next to you. He looks like some kind of bodyguard so he feels like the right kind of person to ask. Besides, worst case is that he's a rando. Best case is that he gives you a good answer.

He turns and rolls his eyes at you, obviously not recognizing you. Either that or he just doesn't give a shit. Not that you can really blame him, he can't afford to give too much of a shit about every mother fucker in a nice suit. "More than you can pay, playboy. He's our best dancer and he doesn't give it up to just any Tom, Dick, or Larry in some shitty imitation Gucci suit.”

You flash him a wad of cash,  _ "How much?" _

He raises his eyebrows, "Five hundred for a private room with Cherry Bomb. Seven if you want it to have a special ending. Fifteen hundred to take him home with you." 

You snort, you  _ easily _ have that much on you. You slap the money into his hand, there's probably around two thousand in there so that's a sizable tip to the guy. “That should do, don’t you think?”

“Yes sir. He’ll be with you after his set. We’ll send him into room six. That’s his personal room, so you can expect a fiery night. After that, he’ll take you home.” He pockets the money and hands you a roomkey with a cherry charm on the end. It makes you fucking laugh at how dumb it all is but cliches are fine in this case. You have no right to really get that annoyed with it when someone as fucking drop dead gorgeous as Cherry is going to be servicing you.

You watch him twirl around again, his arms holding up his bottom half. His wonderful legs spread in the air like warm butter on hot toast during summer in Texas at noon and your knees get weak just watching him do his thing.  _ This fucker is gonna be the death of you. _

Honestly, you need a little more of this kind of stuff in your life so you’re more than okay with dying under his touch, just as long as he lets you in for a little while. You wanna build a summer home between those legs, start a business there, maybe sell fresh cinnamon apple cider on the roadside. You want to build your winter home on the curve of his spine and watch the moon set on the curve of his fucking  _ amazing _ ass at night. You could build an air strip and fly your fingers up his thighs.

You’re starting to think you’re just a little bit obsessed with him, but you don’t care. You want this firecracker to light up your life.

Cherry Bomb slides down on the pole, his wonderful ass nearly smacking against the floor before he picks himself back up with arms and does that spinning thing again, winking in your direction. You feel your dick writhe in your pants and dream about dipping between his thighs again. They're so fucking  _ good _ and you just-- well, suffice to say that you can't wait to be between them.

But you have to be patient and wait for him to finish his set. It's only polite (plus the fact that you want to see more) that you finish watching him dance. You close your eyes and imagine what he'd be like, moaning your name. You wonder if his voice sounds as wonderful as he looks. You're not too sure what to expect but whatever you get, you know you'll be tickled as a peach with. Besides, after all of the strippers you've fucked into submission over the years, they all start to blend together.

But something tells you that Cherry Bomb, or whatever his real name is, is going to be special and something to remember for the rest of your life.

You toss a few hundreds on the stage and feel your heart stop as he looks you in the eyes again, his starlight eyes locking with yours for another moment. It's  _ definitely  _ fanning the flames in your stomach and you feel like you could just overflow. Like a pool of molten hot lava, you lean forward, threatening to burn him up. His hands strokes the underneath of your chin slightly and the bodyguard next to you makes an obnoxious throat-clearing noise. He's clearly not pleased with you.

But the fact that he hasn't stopped you yet is more telling than anything. You're starting to think that Cherry Bomb likes you too, otherwise he would have already grabbed you and your ass would be on the street in your eight thousand dollar suit. 

Cherry licks his lips and blinks slowly at you and you're captivated by him once again, the world fades into the background like white noise and you feel like you're the only two in the room. The only thing keeping you tethered to existence is his touch and his attention. And he's giving you more than you could have ever hoped to get. You slide more bills into one of the spaces on his fishnets and kiss the bone of his shin. He smirks and laughs softly, it sounds like cinnamon chocolate on a cold morning in Canada and you melt again. 

As suddenly as he was upon you, he takes a step back, heels clicking on the stage and reaches for your hand. You oblige and he gingerly presses his lips to your knuckles. After that, the music changes to something with a thicker beat and you listen only partially to the lyrics as you watch him dance. It feels like a private show already and you’re more and more thankful that you paid so much for his company.

_ Crack the whip _ __  
_ I’ll jump the hoop _ __  
_ Cut the skin _ _  
_ __ And bend the truth

He runs his right hand down his thighs and bends back, head nearly touching the ground. It’s a feat of flexibility you’ve really only seen in actual ballet dancers. It makes you wonder just how flexible he is and what kind of positions you can get him into. 

The drum fill rolls in and the crowd murmur gets louder and louder, and thus, harder to ignore. More people are tossing cash onto the stage and nearly the entire platform is covered in it. You wonder how popular he is to be making this kind of cash. While you’re vaguely aware that you’re in New York, this place isn’t known to be the best or the cleanest. But if someone like this is dancing for them, they must be making a killing. And if he’s dancing like that, it makes you wonder what he’s doing it for.

You’re more than happy to spoil someone if you absolutely need to and you almost want to. A pretty boy like him can dance for you all he wants and you can take care of everything else for him. He never needs to worry about anything as long as he stays with you.

Wait, what the fuck are you saying?  _ Do you want to pay for this dancer’s lifestyle? _ Every fibre in your body is screaming yes and it’s not only because of how nice it would be to slide between those thighs like a Slip-n-Slide. But yeah, it’s also because of how fucking nice that would be. He also just seems like the type who wants to be spoiled. But perhaps, behind that, he could just want attention and that’s why he keeps doing this. 

He just wants someone to have their eyes on him and you’re more than happy to oblige with all of the affection and attention that you can. 

The music starts to fade slightly and he does one last twirl, pointing his leg almost perfectly vertical in the air, showing off those buttery thighs again and the crowd cheers loudly. Some people are even fucking  _ applauding him _ and you feel like you’re at a rock show rather than a strip club for a moment there. More money gets tossed onto the stage as he bows, taking in the praise from all of the patrons. His eyes fall on you and he walks to you in the midst of the chaos. His lips press to your ears and your dick nearly jumps out of your fucking pants.

“I hope you paid well tonight because I plan on milking you for all you’re worth,  _ Daddy.” _

His voice is almost gravely, but not enough that it’s annoying to hear. It rubs your brain just so, in that way that makes you melt into a massive fucking puddle of “god yes please say more words to me”. You would normally say you’re doomed but if he kills you, you’ll die happy. He’s a fucking bullet straight through your wallet and you’re so fucking delighted to die by his hand. 

He steps off of the stage and the bodyguard steps onto it, sweeping all of the money not stuck in the various straps and loops of his outfit into a pile. He then sticks it all into a folded cloth bag from his pocket and ties it shut, walking off behind Cherry Bomb. You assume that they're going back into the dressing room or whatever. But before you turn to walk off, he turns around to face you.

You sweat for a moment, wondering if you've done something wrong or if he changed his mind. "Hi."

He looks you over and smiles again, "I'll see you in my room, darling." And with that, he continues walking off, his guard opens the door for him, hands him the money, and closes it behind him. 

"Strider, was it?" You nod. "Have a lovely night, Mr. Strider." The dude is like a perfect carbon copy of Vin Diesel if he had the voice of Morgan Freeman on hexafluoride. Only he’s a little taller and you can tell he totally polishes the top of his head. The more you stare at him, the more pissed off he looks. You’re not looking to get knocked on your ass any time soon so you decide it’s probably the best choice to step the fuck off. 

As you walk off, looking for the private rooms, it hits you that the first thing you said to Cherry was “Hi” and nothing else.  _ Great, _ fucking  _ smooth as ice, _ Strider. Smoother than a waxed floor in a city bank. So slick you gotta put up a wet floor sign so nobody sues you for damages if they slip and fall on that shit.

You follow the signs pointing to the private room area and follow along the doors until you see Room Six. It’s got his name written on a whiteboard outside of it, you think that’s a cute touch. It’s a lot nicer than most places you’ve been to. They usually just slap a printed piece of paper on the door with the name or they just number the rooms. Strippers don’t usually get their own room either. They either really care about keeping Cherry happy or this place is nicer than it seems from the outside.

You stick the key in the door and turn it, the lock clicks and you walk in. You lock it back up behind you and take in the atmosphere. It’s pretty dimly lit and the air is thick with smoke and the smell of cherries. You can see incense smoke floating to the ceiling in dense ribbons, this is probably the reason for the thick scent of cherry in the room. Or it’s the rows of bright red candles lining the edges of the walls, flickering every few moments. The walls are painted a deep cherry colour and the flooring is white tile. But there’s a few fuzzy cherry-red rugs here and there in front of things.

There’s shelves lining the left half of the room, filled with tubes and bottles of what you assume is lube. On the right half is another set of shelves, this time lined with various sex toys of different shapes and sizes. Everything from gags to dildos to chains to whips. Just about anything you can imagine is there. You worry for a second if everything is okay to touch but from what you’ve seen of Cherry so far, you can assume that everything in here is his so it’s probably okay. That and everything in sight is various shades of red so it’s kinda fucking obvious that it all belongs to him.

You think he’s the type to throw a shit fit about things being a mess. And honestly, you can tell because it’s so clean in here compared to the rest of this place. Shit’s cleaner than a whistle. Eat a fuckin’ dinner off that whistle and feed it to your family of five.

In the centre of the room, there’s a big pillowy heart-shaped bed with a sturdy metal frame and a big soft cherry coloured blanket on it. There’s more pillows on it than anything but they do nothing to conceal the straps at the feet and head of it, for what you know is keeping someone tied to it. And there on the bed is Cherry himself, waiting for you, looking like a succubus with a smile on its face right before it devours you.

* * *

 

Your bodyguard, Damon, leads you off the stage, money bag in hand. You weren't expecting to get that much  _ and _ get paid for a private room, so you're in a relatively good mood. But you're kind of low key worried about Dave; what if he's into some gross and weird shit? I mean, rich guy comes to a strip club, pays a hot stripper, and then what? Asks them to take a dump on their chest or some shit?  _ Gross. _ You'll have to ask Violetta about that. 

You can feel his presence behind you and it makes you turn around. You swallow thickly, he's  _ really _ fucking hot from this close up. Sure, you touched him and shit while you were on stage, but that's while you were performing so that doesn't really count. Not in your humble fucking opinion at least. You were busy performing, plus you touch all over the regulars who happen to be close to the stage anyway so it’s not all that different from what you’d normally do. His eyes are fucking  _ gorgeous _ and they are indeed red in person. What a fucking weird (and hot) colour. 

You see him smile, perfect teeth all lined up and shining,  _ "Hi." _

His voice is gorgeous and instead of freaking the fuck out, you train your face into a smile, "I'll see you in my room, darling." Then before you can freak out even more than you internally are, you head into the door, thanking Damon as he hands you your money. You lean against it and huff,  _ fucking hell he's perfect. _ You really  _ really _ hope he isn't into some weird shit.

Speaking of, there she is now... "Hey Kar-- Cherry."

_ "You." _ You strut over to her and square your shoulder.

"Mmm, well I sure hope I'm me." Violetta smiles, looking innocent as ever. "What is it, love?"

"Your brother. What the fuck is he into?" Hooking your arm with hers, you lead her over to your dressing room. You toe off your heels and being the annoying process of removing your fishnets, "Is he into something I should know about or be fucking afraid of?"

"What." 

"You heard me, did your brother just pay me so I'll do something fucking gross to him?" You slide off your bikini top and take a deep breath, you  _ hate _ how tight these things are. You don't know how girls wear bras all the time and don't get annoyed.

"Are you asking if my brother wants you to urinate on him or something?" Violetta sounds as grossed out as you are to actually  _ hear _ her say it.

"Yes I'm-- UGH! Fuck this fucking stupid bullshit! Do you think you can unzip me?" She walks behind the privacy screen and grabs the little zipper for your skirt and starts tugging at it. "Anyway. Yes, I'm obviously a little fucking grossed out that he might do that. You know how fam-- FUCK--" 

"Sorry. Suck it in, baby, you're getting thick." 

"I am not-- whatever, let me--" You hold your breath, she pulls again and you feel your spine relax. "You know how famous people get. They’re fucking gross.”

“Well I can promise you that I have never once imagined my sibling to be the type for that kind of thing. The most I could see him doing is exactly what you like in a guy.” She steps back, giving you room to navigate out of your skirt. You tug it off and toss it onto the top of the screen, then you pull open your drawers and start looking for something to wear.

“What do you think, black or red?” You ask Violetta, holding up a few different body suits.

“How about black cherry or even wine red? Go for a classy vibe tonight. I even went and readied all of the candles and incense in your room for exactly that kind of thing once I finished up with Ms. Maryam.” She answers. The look on her face tells you that she’s expecting praise. Well… what the hell, she deserves it.

“Well thank you for that. Saves me time having to do it myself.” You decide to go with a wine red floor length robe and a comfortable pair of panties. “Does he like stockings?” 

“More than you’d probably guess.” Violetta laughs. 

Well it’s decided then. You pair that with some black stockings, you think you look great but it always helps to have a second opinion. “What do you think?”

“ _ Ravishing. _ ” She pinches your cheeks, “You’re a little tart and he’s going to eat you right up. Now go on, I have a date to make so I can’t stay behind. Call me in the morning and we’ll go for coffee. Kisses.” She leans forward and you press a kiss to her cheek.

“Have fun.” You pull her in for a hug and then stand back. She takes a breath and smiles, you return it in kind. You’re glad you met her, she’s really sweet.

“I plan on it. Ms. Maryam has a  _ lovely _ tongue and I plan to make her work for what she wants even if I have to humiliate her.” Rose laughs lightly, brushing her hair behind her ear, “Poor girl has a humiliation kink the size of New York, I swear... Anyway, good night Karkat.”

“Good night Rose.” You wave her off and head into the backdoor entrance to your private room. It takes you a moment to situate yourself into bed with your stupid robe on but you manage well enough. After draping the fabric artfully, you hear the door open and watch as Dave enters the room.

He's just fucking standing there, what a total weirdo. Does... does he not see you sitting right here? Should you make a noise or something and alert him to your presence? He's just looking at everything, you guess he's checking out the room? He's mumbling something to himself but you can't quite catch anything in particular. You decide that he's just kind of a fucking weirdo. It really is a shame that he's so weird because he's really good-looking. 

As you're about to clear your throat, he turns his head and his eyes land on you.  _ Finally. _ You were getting tired of waiting around for him.

"Looks like you made it back here in one piece."  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. What, is he ten years old? He doesn't need you to hold his hand to find the fucking door. Good job, Karkat. _

His stoic face cracks into a grin and you  _ finally _ get to hear him say more than one word to you. "I sure did, were you expectin' me t'be in pieces when I got here?" 

You weren't really expecting his accent to be so thick, it makes you wonder if he's putting one on or that he just really tones it down for interviews and the like. He doesn't normally have such a thick Texan accent but it's kind of nice. It's different from what you were thinking and you're impressed that he's managed to surprise you in such a simple way already. Rose doesn't have an accent like that, but then again, they didn't grow up in the same house from what you heard. So you  _ guess _ it's normal for her to have no accent and for him to have one.

"I was expecting you to be here before me, dear. That’s all.” You move to stand up but he waves his hands and you sit back down.

“Ah, don’t bother gettin’ up for me. Lemme come to you. Can’t be feelin’ too good ‘bout myself if I let a pretty thing like you cater to my whims, now, can I?” He slides his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the couch you had half a mind to lounge on instead of the bed. 

Dave steps toward you, and you shift a bit to sit up better. If you're going to be giving this fucking Adonis a good time, you're gonna want to be sitting upright at the very least. He kindly kicks his shoes off, discarding them at the foot of the heart-shaped bed. How thoughtful, it's not usual that you get clients that are so well-mannered. Then again, it's rare that you get any that aren't fucking pigs. They usually can't even be bothered to take their jackets off, much less their shoes. It's fucking disgusting and downright shameful but you suppose if these people are paying a stripper for sex, they probably have horrid bedside manners so you shouldn't be too shocked. Anyway, Dave.  _ Dave. _

My god he's even more lovely from this close up. And he's overly sweet too, but it's a nice change of pace so you're not about to complain. His hands reach for you but he pulls them back, thinking quietly for a moment, you assume. 

"Is it okay if I touch you?" He asks, voice as smooth as a glass of Château Cheval Blanc being poured over a candle-lit dinner in a bath of moonlight. 

You swallow thickly, taken aback by his attentivity to your feelings on the matter. "Of course... please." 

His warm hands finally make contact with your shoulders, fingers tracing the patterns on the intricate lace at your collar. After a moment, you hear his breathing pick up just slightly and he trails down your arms until his hands meet your wrists. His grip is tight and it's honestly kind of thrilling, you wonder if he'll pin you back or something like that. Perhaps he'll throw you backward and cuff your wrists to the bed or even just hold you down and bend you over. Either way, you'll be pleased as punch. 

He waits for another moment, you wonder if he’s nervous or if he’s just planning his next move. Then he opens his mouth again. 

“You look beautiful.”

This  _ very attractive _ man thinks you’re beautiful. You, who sucks dicks for pocket change to buy makeup and pay for school tuition. Who is best friends with his half-sister and fucks random strangers for the thrill of it all. You, who just wants romance and to be told you’re beautiful by someone who genuinely gives a shit about you and doesn’t just want you for your body. You hope he’s not just being this kind because he paid a lot for you, but you’re aware that  _ that _ particular train of thought is wishful thinking on your part. 

Still, it doesn’t hurt to be kind back just in case he’s different. Plus, you’re not really lying if you tell him how good he looks. “Says you, you’re like a sculpture right out of the Louvre.”

Dave tilts his head to the side and lets out a throaty chuckle, pulling your arms back as he does. His body moves closer, chest nearly flushed to your own. Your face heats slightly but it’ll be goddamn hard for him to notice that through all of your foundation. “Well thank ya for noticin’, I work  _ real _ hard to keep this up, ya know? Feels good to hear that from someone who could easily be on the runway but is humble ‘nough t’work in a place like this.”

“Hardly.” You manage to squeak out as he presses forward still. Your legs naturally divide to wrap around his as his knee presses into your thighs.

“Please, I got an eye for pretty things like you and I like what I see.” He presses his lips to your ear, placing kisses there. You nearly fucking melt into a puddle, his lips are  _ unforgivingly _ soft and he’s trailing slowly down your neck. Your breath catches in your throat and you let out a needy whine. You practically hear the smile in his voice. “You like that?”

You nod gently, “Mmhmm.” You’re nearly on your back, sandwiched between the velvety comforter and his silky-smooth shirt. Just when you think he’s about to dip in for more kisses, he pulls back and your skin cries at the loss of contact. Fuck, come  _ back. _

“Hold up, can’t go any farther with my clothes on.” He laughs sheepishly, hands making quick work of removing his dress shirt and tie. You  _ attempt _ to sit up and help him but his face immediately turns stern and his voice is like being whipped, “ _ Don’t. _ ”

_ Fuck.  _

He finishes taking his shirt off and moves to his dress pants, undoing his belt and sliding them down his thighs and discarding them into the clothes pile on the floor. He sits back up and smiles softly at you. He’s admittedly not as ripped as magazines photoshop him to be, but he’s still tall and slender, a trail of light blond hair starts at his navel and peeks out of his boxers. You don’t  _ dare _ to lower your eyes because you know you won’t be able to keep yourself from leaping onto him. You’re gonna fucking  _ slow down _ and let him take care of you. 

Hell, you don’t think he’d let you take charge even if you were the one who paid him. Which is great since that’s fucking exactly what you’ve been wanting. And as thrilling as being punished by him seems, you think you’d much rather enjoy him bossing you around a little. 

He pressed back into you, fingers lacing into your own. You tilt back again with him, letting your spine untense and you truly relax for the first time in what feels like months. (Though, logically, it's really since last night when you laid down to go to sleep in your apartment.) His lips hungrily press into yours and you open your mouth, drawing in a quick breath. Taking the opportunity, he plunges his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around your own. Your skin  _ immediately _ heats up and you feel it pooling in your hips again. Dave kisses you with such  _ passion _ that your dick is already screaming for attention. But you're aware that you can't just yell at him to fuck you yet. 

He pulls back, holding your lip gently between his teeth, nibbling on it slightly. He lets go and blinks gently at you, eyes hazy already. "Can I take this off of you?" He always asks, which is tooth-achingly sweet, but you're getting a little impatient. 

" _ Please. _ " The word has barely left your lips and he's already pulled off your robe, discarding it to the right of the bed instead of into his pile on the left. He's being so considerate of you even when he's trying to fuck you. 

"And this?" His hands gesture to your hips where your panties are still nearly perfectly in place. That is, if you disregard the fact that your dick is hungrily pressing against the fabric in a desperate bid to escape from their silk prison. You nod and his fingers hook into the loops of fabric on your hips. Your skin perks up at his touch and you can't resist the urge to press your hips into his hands.

Dave laughs softly, teasing you slightly. If you were any less horny, you'd slap him in the face for it. "Not yet, hold on, darlin'." He pulls them down and you stand at full attention for him. It doesn't take him long to notice, what with his hands immediately flying to it.  _ Shit, _ his hands are so  _ good. _ How the fuck does he keep them so soft? You'll have to ask him when his hand isn't all over your dick and you're not a whimpering pathetic mess. 

"That good?" His hand strokes gently, pushing the precum already beading at the head up and it spills over onto his hands. 

" _ God, _ yes. Please..." You're not even trying to not beg at this point. You don't care, you're not ashamed of being needy. Why should you be?

He strokes again, and your brains fogs over. Somewhere between blinding pleasure and anguished whimpering from your end, his boxers are discarded. You can really only tell because his dick brushes against your thigh. It snaps you back to reality and the haze clears just enough for you to reach up the hand that isn’t clinging frantically to the sheets and you stroke him as well. He lets out a throaty moan of his own and you feel his grip falter slightly on yours. 

“As much fun as jerkin’ you off is, and lemme tell ya, it  _ really _ is. I’d like to…” he trails off, stroking you lazily as he does.  _ Right. _ Nobody pays two thousand dollars to have a jerk-off session with a stripper. He’s obviously expecting more or for you to tell him what’s okay and what’s not. 

You reach over and pluck one of the many tubes of lube that you keep on the shelf next to the bed and hand it to him. He thanks you and pops the top on it, smirking. “This shit better not be cold as a yeti’s nipple in Antarctica or else one of us is gonna be sufferin’.”

You nearly fucking roll your eyes. Jesus  _ christ _ the  _ dumbest _ shit comes out of his mouth sometimes. “Of course it’s warm. What kind of whore do you take me for?”

He blinks at you, as if he’s confused. “‘Whore’? Nah. You’re a fuckin’ gift, hon’, and don’t you ever be believin’ no different, ya get me?” He squeezes a generous handful of lubricant into his hands and warms it between them before rubbing down his cock with it. 

You’re taken back a little bit, you’ve never had anyone chew you out for using that word to describe yourself before so you’re not really sure how to react. But what he’s saying does make sense so you simply agree. “Fine, whatever.” 

He smiles again, “I fuckin’ love that attitude you’ve got there.” He hands you the tube, “Can’t wait to make that shit melt like a blowtorch to snow when I’ve got your hands tied to that post there and you’re begging me to keep goin’.”  _ Fucker. _ He knows _ exactly _ what he’s doing and you’re embarrassed that it’s working so well. For someone with a lot of bullshit to say, he’s got a silver tongue for sure. 

You just hope he’s as good at cracking jokes and being smug as he is at sending fireworks up your spine and into the backs of your eyelids. Otherwise all he really can do is run his fucking mouth and that’s not why you’re here. You haven’t walked out on a client in a long time and you  _ pray _ he’s not going to be the record breaker for that. You’d hate to make him pay so much and be so hot and then be fucking useless in bed. 

God you hope he’s good in bed.

As if he can read your fucking mind, Dave grabs your legs, hooking them up and around his shoulders. You nearly yelp in surprise but manage to bite your tongue just in time to supress the embarrassing noise from spilling past your lips. Then he grips onto your knees and drags you forward, pressing your shoulder blades into the bed. You’ve never been manhandled like this by a patron and you’re a little ashamed to admit that your dick perks up in desperation. 

Sure, it’s enticing but does he have to be so rough? (God  _ please _ be rough, it’s fucking hot. Please please  _ please. _ )

“What the fuck are you doing!?” You hiss between angrily clenched teeth.

He grins, teeth glinting in the low light. His hands stroke down your legs, spreading them farther apart as he goes. Your hips opening up for him, he presses against your entrance for a moment before opening his mouth. “Shuttin’ you up ‘cuz I don’t wanna hear that mouth open again unless yer beggin’ me to keep goin’ or it’s my name.” 

You’re about to open your mouth to give him an earful, because really, how fucking  _ dare _ he talk to you like that? But before you can, he pushes himself inside of you and the words die on your tongue like a match being thrown into a lake. Your hips jerk back in surprise and he grabs them before they can pull away, clicking his tongue condescendingly at you as he does so. You would normally be a little bit annoyed with this but you have no room to be so upset when he’s so… good.

God he’s good. He’s got your legs crossed behind his head and your hands gripping the sheets like a raft at sea. There’s no escape, not that you’d want to, and you’re damn pleased to be in the position you’re currently occupying. Your calves squeeze around his neck, pulling him closer, if that were possible. 

He’s completely buried inside of you and you let out one long and drawn-out breathy moan as he settles into you. Your dick twitches in excitement and Dave chuckles softly, “God you’re so easy. Look at you.” You’d been thinking of having mirrors installed on the ceiling for that very purpose but alas, nothing like that has been put in just yet. You’d have to really prove yourself to get something like that. And after a night with a famous and  _ very _ rich director, you just might have your dream come true. 

He thrusts and your eyelids snap open in attention as the sound of skin on skin rings through the room. The incense smoke curls and drifts around his back, candles cascading light in such a way that he could almost be a god amongst men. With a dick like his, he could  _ really _ fucking pass for it, you can say that much at the very least.

His hand grips tighter onto your lower thighs and he opens his mouth to speak. “Say it.” He whispers lightly, keening his hips forward, yours press back into his. Your prostate throbs at the contact and you whimper in absolute bliss.  _ Ugh, he’s so thick. _ It feels fucking phenomenal. “Say my name, I know you know it.”

You open your mouth and his hips rock into yours again, he lifts you as he does and your shoulders press into the bed. Your hair is pressed up around your face and he reaches down to dust it out of your eyes. His hand lingers for a moment, stroking your cheekbones before gliding up into your hair, tugging on it slightly. “Well?” he asks, as if it were so simple to just  _ say _ it like that while he’s roughing you up, punctuating each of his words with another thrust of his hips.

He slams into you again, your legs clench down as he lets the remainder of his grip loose and grabs onto your wrists. Dave pins them above your head, leaving you totally at the mercy of his touch and his command. (You’re  _ really  _ not fucking complaining about this,  _ god _ you wouldn’t fucking dare to.) He grinds into you and your legs quiver in response, a sort of language between bodies. One commands and the other stands in attention.

Your mouth opens again, trying to form words once more but instead a throaty moan follows and his eyelids flutter for a second as he returns your delighted vocalization with another rocking motion. “ _ Dave… _ ” you  _ finally _ manage to whimper between noises of pure rapture. Now that you’ve finally managed to get the words to spill from your mouth, you can’t seem to stop. “Please-- ah, please. More. More...  _ dammit _ .”

Your head swims in pleasure when he lets go of your arms and instead opts to grab onto your ribcage, angling your torso upward. You have to move your hips up to meet his or else face him dragging you up himself. And as nice as that would be, you’d get what you want a lot fucking faster if you smash down your defiant instinct and just let yourself be enveloped in pleasure. He must like this a lot since he mutters what you swear are the words “Good boy” under his breath. You’re not one to dislike praise of any sort, and honestly, hearing that come from his mouth is kind of nice. It’s a little seductive too, almost too much to handle. Your body shivers in delight and he smiles at you again.

Dave’s eyes lock to yours while he grinds into you again. Your dick presses impatiently against his stomach, throbbing with excitement, and you  _ know _ you need release soon or you’re going to actually burst into tears and become one of  _ those _ types. You don’t want a reputation for being some kind of whiney bottom who cries during sex so you intend to tell him you want to cum  _ sometime _ soon.

“Please…” you start to plead but he cuts you off.

“You want to cum, right, darlin’?” His accent is thick and drawn out, voice dipping at least two octaves. You nearly start begging again before he shushes you, “You have to earn it now. Do I look like a fuckin’ sucker, honeybunch? I paid a lot for you an’ I plan on gettin’ a lot out of ya before I take you home and  _ really _ make you earn every penny. An’ don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout nothin’. I’m a gentleman but I do care ‘bout makin’ you earn it.”

He pauses for a moment, thrusting his hips forward once more before opening his mouth. “Tell me. What’s your name?” You are  _ not _ supposed to give out your names to your clients, but apparently he’s expecting that kind of answer. “Your  _ real _ name. Come on, who am I gonna tell? Plus, look at you. If I’m enjoyin’ ya this much  _ and _ you’re takin’ me home. I ain’t ‘bout to let a stranger in my house.”

You think for a moment before pleasure spikes into you and you’re forced to give an answer, you just hope you don’t regret this. “ _ Kar… Karkat. _ My--  _ ah... _ my name is Karkat.” You  _ barely _ manage to whisper between breathy cries of bliss. 

“Karkat.” He says the word almost like he’s tasting a fine wine, “Perfect name for a little vixen like you. So, Karkat, tell me-- how long have you been looking forward to this?”

You tell him the truth, at least partially, “Since I first saw you…  _ God _ please, fuck-- keep going.  _ Please! _ ”

He smiles, apparently that was the right answer because his hand releases its death-grip on your ribs and grabs onto your dick, stroking it long and slowly. You moan, your head tossing back into the bedding. Pleasure rockets down your spine and into your hips and you cry out, unable to keep the noises inside of you any longer. His name spills out of your mouth again, like a reverent prayer and you’re hoping you can get saved if you beg enough.

“You want to be free, huh? You wanna cum, don’t you, Karkat?” Dave tugs on your cock again, precum spills all over his hand, only serving to improve his handy work. Normally, you’d question why a male director is jerking off a male stripper and fucking him for that matter, but you’ve heard he’s  _ really _ fucking openly bisexual and isn’t afraid to admit it on TV. But this is 2018 and you’re in no place to question anyone when you yourself will fuck just about anyone. 

“ _ Yes! _ ” You cry out, thrusting your hips upward so he’ll keep going. He pushes himself into you again, picking up the pace. Your eyes lock to his and you shiver against him. He blinks softly and his lips find your neck. Dave presses a kiss there before biting into the soft skin there, just enough to bruise him slightly, if not leave a mark. 

You groans in white-hot pleasure, "Please,  _ Dave. _ Make me cum for you. Please,  _ please. _ " Dave shakes his head no, but you’re not giving up so easily. You  _ want _ to fucking cum and you’re not letting this fucking  _ tease _ keep you from getting your end too. You try again, begging just a little bit more. "Dave, make me cum for you! Fill me up and let me fucking  _ cum, _ fuck--" your voice teeters on hysterical, "Please, fuck--  _ please! _ " 

He laughs softly, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery or something. "Okay... okay, yeah. Come here, Karkat." He brings his hips down again, harder and harder. You cry out in as pleasure rips through your body, your vision swims slightly. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Dave,  _ Dave! _ Ah--  _ yes! _ " Your back arches slightly, back lifting off the blankets and your toes curl up, pointing at the ceiling. You come a lot, a lot more than normal, eyelids flying open and mouth opening up into a perfect o. 

You relish in the look on his face as he fills you up to the brim. His eyes flutter shut and he moans, long and drawn out, voice so low that your dick seems to jump at attention to it just from the sound alone. It's almost too much to handle. You whimper his name, hands gripping onto the sheets tightly. You feel yourself spasm around him, orgasm finishing off. Your legs tight around Dave’s neck, the last of your cum drips onto your stomach, some hits his own. But he doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

All of his strength seems to give out at once since he lets go of you and slumps over onto you, leaning on his elbows. The sound of his rough breathing and the occasional pop of the wooden wick candles fill the room for what feels like an eternity before he speaks, filling the empty space with the  _ lovely _ sound of his voice again.

“Well shit dude, fuckin’  _ nice. _ Totes worth every mcfuckin’ penny I spent on ya. Holy _ fuck, _ man. I’d highfive you but I’m pretty sure it’s universally agreed upon that high fiving someone you just fucked is like, taboo or something? I don’t fuckin’ know but I do know it’s pretty fuckin’ weird. Anyway, good fucking  _ shit _ Karkat. Good fuckin’  _ GOD! _ ” He laughs, lifting a hand up and brushes the hair out of his eyes. You blink, too exhausted to really fucking process any of that and instead you just nod.

_ This man was a fucking mistake. _

**Author's Note:**

> [Join my server, Karkat Thirst! I live-write fics there! (16+)](https://discord.gg/g5hq6Th)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The lyrics are taken from the songs:  
>  _Lying_ by Foreign Air which you can listen to [here.](https://open.spotify.com/track/2TwBgFygTuqKSb9SpHxDez?si=iG2Qnr3yQy6TbIbuhdg1dA)
> 
>  _Gamma Knife_ by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard which you can listen to [here.](https://open.spotify.com/track/7cXqhmohfNtwm5ZPgp4Cpi?si=2qnYpNKaQZqPo0p9wIAvTw)


End file.
